


tricky spaces

by preromantics



Series: Bus Sex Series [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-12
Updated: 2010-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Two people do not fit comfortably into one bunk.</i> PWP Bunk!sex, frottage, fingering, some dirty talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tricky spaces

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ on 7/28/09.

Two people do not fit comfortably into one bunk. Especially if one of those people is Adam. Kris stands by this law of physics, because trying it out once was good enough for him, but apparently Adam has decided to disregard the fact that it just doesn’t work.

No, really.

“Come on,” Adam says, rolling inside from his crouch on the floor. His knee is dangerously close to being a weapon and Kris had just been trying to sleep, okay, this is unfair.

Adam is a heavy, warm weight on top of him when he finally gets in. There is enough space for both of them, though, enough for Adam to lean over Kris with his elbows, smirking in a triumphant sort of way down at him.

“This doesn’t work,” Kris says. He shifts a little, Adam’s leg slipping between his own legs, and --

“I’ve been in tighter spaces,” Adam says, low with a leer and Kris closes his eyes to keep from rolling them.

Kris pushes at him a little half-heartedly, gets caught at how soft the material of Adam’s shirt is, light and thin, and Adam rolls his hips down a little.

“No,” Kris says. “It would never work and we are, if you haven’t noticed, on a moving bus. With people.”

Adam nuzzles into his neck, his breath hot. He drags his teeth down the side of Kris’ throat, sparking all down Kris’ side in a tight spiral of tension. “Come on,” he says, again, a low vibration. Kris doesn’t have to look to know that he’s grinning, still rotating his hips down, a light pressure.

Kris had opted to sleep the night before at the hotel, giving into his exhaustion and he knows Adam is getting him back now, making small keening and encouraging noises down in his throat, working him up. It’s working, too, and Kris sucks in a breath.

There is a bruise on Kris’ hip, two imprints shaped like Adam’s fingers, and Adam reaches down, pressing right into them. Kris arches up at the dull pain, can’t help it, groaning just softly.

“See,” Adam breathes, tracing down along Kris’ hip, “this can work.” He’s grinning a little, soft around the edge, but his eyes are harder, dark.

Kris sucks in a breath, turning to look at his bunk curtains, reaching to tug one end as close to the wall as it can get, and then over to tangle into Adam’s hair where it’s thick and soft in the back.

“It’s not going to work,” he repeats, but pulls Adam down the tiny amount of space between them anyway, scraping his own teeth along Adam’s full bottom lip, tugging lightly and soothing it with his tongue.

He really doesn’t mean to go beyond that, to not push Adam out of the bunk after a few minutes and roll over, go back to sleep. He’s already got Adam’s shirt bunched half-way off his back, tracing along lines of patterned freckled skin, digging his nails in just a tiny bit every time Adam rolls his hips. It would be pointless not to give in, now.

Adam’s leaning himself all the way up, back pressing into the top of the bunk as he works his way down the buttons on Kris’ shirt. The bunk light is on but it’s still shadowy, Adam’s face lost outside of the light, his hands and legs pressing down onto Kris in a detached way.

Kris is hot, his chest feels a little slick when Adam’s fingers press down, soothing small circles around his nipples and then scratching dulling down his stomach with little pricks of shooting pain, raising the hair on his arms. Adam slides down him, crouching, and rolls out of the bunk. Kris thinks it’s unintentional at first, fighting back both a groan and a laugh deep in his chest, but Adam reaches in and pulls him out, too.

The bunk pathway is dark, but still lighter than the bunk itself and it prickles behind Kris’ eyelids. “What?” he asks, barely spoken, glancing around at the other bunks. Most of them are empty, curtains wide open, but two that he can see have shut curtains. Kris doesn’t remember if anyone else was there before Adam came rolling in.

“You need to be on top,” Adam says, gritty and quiet. His face looks both triumphant and impatient, lips pressed together and eyes following the line of Kris’ throat. Kris watches as Adam undoes his own pants, slipping them loose around his hips, and crawls back into the bunk.

He’s right in the bunk hall, separated from one side of the bus by a doorway and the other by a curtain. He can hear the TV and make out muffled voices -- it’s still morning and everyone is quiet, not yet ready for the day. His skin is cool, bare and it takes him a moment to push in after Adam, body tight with the realization that really anyone could walk in on him -- him and Adam -- doing what they are about to do.

They aren’t defined or anything. Definitions are trivial, really, compared to feelings and nerve endings, anyway, but it’s not common knowledge or anything, the fact that Kris will willingly lay himself out for Adam, now, will follow him into backstage bathrooms for more than just hair and stage make-up advice.

“Did you fall asleep out there?” Adam hisses, reaching a hand out for Kris and Kris laughs at him a little, squirming back into the bunk, sort of giddy with it all at once, elbowing Adam in his chest and leaning down to suck on his skin right there, apologetic.

Adam shoves him out of his pants, hooking two fingers in both layers, leaning up as best he can until they are pooled at Kris’ ankles, skin against skin now. Kris can really only lean his head down, trying to prop his weight up with his elbows on each side of Adam’s shoulder, pressing his lips down the side of Adam’s jaw, just lightly and drying dragging them along.

Adam’s hands are hot, hotter than anything in the bunk, pressing and kneading into Kris’ ass, spreading him and tracing down, all the way to his balls and back up, pressing dry and light against him. He pulls one hand up, skimming his fingers along Kris’ spine and to the back of his neck, twisting his arm around.

“Get them wet,” he says, pressing two fingers against Kris’ lips, and Kris lets them slip through, groaning just lightly, the taste sort of hard and sharp.

Adam trails his fingers back down, cold and wet in little spots down the curve of Kris’ back, and he spreads him open again, just pressing around the rim, too light. Kris arches back, imploring, biting down at Adam’s collarbone and keeping his teeth there, marking in little red indents.

He presses in, finally, one finger hooked inside, slick but not like it is with just lube. Kris likes the feelings better, almost -- there is so much more to feel, just a little extra tinge. He wants to bite down on something, hunched over Adam in an awkward sort of way, and end up with a mouthful of cotton pillow, tasteless and rough.

Adam’s hands are hard on his ass, the heels both digging in to each of his cheeks to spread him wide, wider than usual from this angle and Kris feels exposed, even though there is nothing above him but the ceiling of the next bunk.

(He hopes no one is right above them, right now -- that they can’t hear the scrape his teeth are making on the pillow case and the little noises he’s trying not to make as Adam adds a second finger and rotates his hips up in small snapping motions. He hopes no one can hear the wet, stretching sound Adam’s fingers are making, one from each of his hands slipping rhythmically in and out, pushing inside in opposite directions to stretch Kris out even more, and it feels so good, full to a certain point but then empty in the middle.)

“C’mon,” Kris grits out, as quiet as he can get because raising the volume of his voice suddenly seems more serious -- like maybe someone would hear them or maybe if his voice got too loud he’d give in and get desperate.

Adam bites into the soft skin beneath Kris’ jaw, mouth stretched out wide into a grin. “What,” he says, voice annoyingly level, so far out of what Kris is feeling right now, “come on, what?”

Kris shifts over top of Adam when Adam pushes in a third finger, this one a little more dry but a lot cooler, and it sends sparks up his spine and down his arms. He looses a little leverage in his arms, pushing his hips down lower and there is just a slight, perfect shift, and his dick is pressing right against Adam’s, sliding side-to-side every time Kris pushes back against Adam’s fingers.

Adam makes a low noise, into Kris’ neck, pushing up with his hips, stomach brushing almost too hard against the head of Kris’ dick, slick, and fucking his fingers in deep at the same time. Kris snaps his head back, brushes against the top of the bunk, too loud and a little painful, but it makes him loose his grip on the pillowcase and he lets out a low moan.

“God, you like this,” Adam says, twisting and just stilling both his hands, keeping Kris spread and clenching. “Is it the bunks?” he asks, just lightly moving, now, rotating his fingers in little fractions and pushing up repeatedly against Kris’ dick.

Kris tries to -- to do something, not get away but make Adam stop talking without talking himself, but mostly he can’t help it, rutting down into Adam’s cock (satisfied when Adam inhales, sharp, just for a second,) and pushing back onto his fingers.

“Is it the fact someone could be listening?” Adam asks, pressing on and licking wet-hot up Kris’ jaw. “Or how I’m just keeping you open? Can you feel me even though I’m not inside?”

“Shut up,” Kris breathes, not sure if he even manages to get it out as a word. Adam pulls one hand away from his ass, quick, one finger slipping out and it already feels like a loss, and Kris breathes out through his nose, sharp and maybe a little like a whine.

He can feel the laugh in Adam’s chest, where they are pressed together, Kris’ nipples almost hard and rubbing, sending scattered nerve-ending sparks down his chest every time they just scrape against the light hairs Adam has, or his sweat slick skin.

Adam moves his hand around quick, pulling it down in between both of them and pushing up at Kris’ stomach, trying to get him to lean up some more, and reaching down to wrap his hand around both of their dicks together when there is enough space. His thumb stays at the heads, mostly around Kris, pressing almost too hard right underneath, and he mostly just squeezes them together, jerking in little motions that barely move his hand as much as they press them both together, hot.

“Good?” Adam asks, tight, and presses his two fingers deep inside Kris, barely moving them either but curling and pressing just right. It’s more dry, now, but Kris feels slick enough -- his skin and the hair at the base of his neck -- he feels humid and sticky, the bunks not built for the shared body heat of two people.

It’s a stupid question but Kris crosses his eyes anyway, of course it’s good it’s -- they hadn’t gotten a chance to really do anything at the hotel, scrambling, and Kris knew Adam would try something, payback for Kris choosing to sleep and this isn’t what he thought but it’s almost even better than having Adam rushed in some back room at the next venue, pressing him into the wall and pressing in deep, fucking him in a hurry.

Adam comes first, surprising Kris, snapping his hips up too hard, too fast. His grip is too hard, too, and Kris can feel it, Adam’s come along his stomach and sliding along his own dick, and he groans, tensing but still on edge, wanting.

He’s not expecting it, but Adam’s fast, slipping his hand out from between them and spreading Kris open again, even more, and slips in two fingers from that hand, slick with his own come and stretching -- two from both hands on opposite sides, now, pressing pressing and the wetness is shocking, slipping down.

Kris bucks down, can’t take it all at once and slides down Adam’s chest and further into his fingers and he comes, aching back and aching a little everywhere, pulling the cotton of the pillowcase back into his teeth and breathing wild around it.

It takes him a few minutes to breathe right, and Adam’s got a hand (wet, Kris can feel it, doesn’t know how he’s going to explain his hair, later,) running along his scalp.

“So,” Adam says, “I think that worked pretty well.”

Kris gathers enough energy to huff, dropping the rest of his weight down with a little noise. “Two people don’t fit right,” he says, after a second.

Adam laughs, voice low and a little gritty, “Okay, sure, and I’m sure you’ll say that tomorrow, too.”

Kris takes another minute to process that, tomorrow -- oh -- and groans into Adam’s neck.


End file.
